


Double-Crossed

by FallingStories



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:36:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3725629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingStories/pseuds/FallingStories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Balthazar's been collecting souls in the interim between faking his death and being rediscovered by Castiel. His latest acquisition has been stolen by someone, and he wants it back. Set between season 5 and season 6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double-Crossed

The man didn’t even look like he’d passed; his eyes were closed, his blankets pulled up to his chin.The garish green and purple wallpaper behind him was smeared with blood, but if Balthazar ignored the wall the man looked as though his sobbing husband in the next room had tucked him in for the night.

A pity that his insides had been ripped apart by a hellhound. About that…

Balthazar turned and followed the scent of sulfur before it could fade. A few months after his dear brothers failed to produce the promised Armageddon, he’d taken off; he left behind rumors, tales flying about about his heroic, sacrificial shuffling off of the mortal coil or whatever the phrase was, very poetic.

He didn’t feel much obligated to take on the problems of his brethren any longer. Balthazar was much more interested now in the collection of souls. Quite the market the things had.

And now one of his newly contracted souls had just been whisked off by a fucking demon of all things. Couldn’t the twat tell that he’d marked the man as his? The brand on his soul hadn’t just vanished. The sulfurous scum knew exactly what it was doing, and Balthazar refused to tolerate it.

He vanished and rematerialized on the ground below Mr. Esau Levitt’s window. The sulfur smell was already dissipating in the wind, but Balthazar wasn’t about to let go easy. The demon’s aura was strong enough that he could sense it was still in the town, even without the brand on his property as a beacon. Maybe it had another stop before it dragged its stolen bounty down to hellfire.

Spreading his wings and letting them extend in his metaphysical form, he took flight to follow his soul. Balthazar spotted the demon’s black, twisted aura accompanying his property in the strangest place for it to go; an occult shop tucked between a crowded restaurant and a 1980s-style arcade that was inches from going under.

The demon in question wore a typical human female: blonde, wavy hair, tanned skin. Pretty enough, as vessels went. Not that the dress she wore didn’t help matters.

Balthazar frowned. The demon had picked the shop’s lock. It didn’t blow the door in, as demons usually did. It went to the trouble of working the lock open by hand.

He bypassed the door and appeared in the center of the shop to avoid the creaking that would tip off the demon to his presence. Balthazar wasn’t certain yet if he planned to smite the upstart demon or if he’d take the soul and leave. Of course, she deserved it, but that was beside the point. A smiting would undoubtedly give his position away to Raphael, and _that_ , he wanted less than revenge on some petty little thief.

A click drew his attention and he turned to face the demon. Her true face was… not at all what he had been expecting. She almost had a semblance of humanity left in the twisted remains. Half-smoke, half-beast, but with a face of a woman stripped of skin and muscle until nothing but bone remained.

She held a handgun, cocked and loaded. Balthazar wondered if she was stupid. A gun couldn’t harm an angel.

A closer look made him reconsider. A pentagram was carved on the handle, and on the barrel was a Latin phrase – _non timebo mala_. I will fear no evil.

Balthazar was on the verge of showing his true form, but by the time he revealed himself fully he would be shot by Samuel Colt’s infamous gun. How this two-bit crossroads demon got ahold of it, Balthazar didn’t know.

“Angel, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got a business to run and I don’t appreciate interference,” the demon said, with an accent far out of place for midwestern America.

“Oh, don’t go, sweetheart, we have so much to talk about,” Balthazar said lazily, tracking the Colt’s movement in the corner of his eye. “For instance, that soul you’re carrying with you. I believe you’ll find it belongs to me.”

The demon smirked. “First come, first served. I was promised this fellow’s soul three years back.”

“He bears my mark,” Balthazar insisted.

“Then I believe you’ve been double-crossed. You want him, wait in line. He’s my bounty first.” The demon began to back up, the Colt still pointed at his chest. A series of stolen amulets clattered around her meatsuit’s neck.

“You’re a thief,” Balthazar said, stepping forward. “You stole my property, and I intend to have it back.”

“Darling, I stole a _lot_ of things,” the demon said, eyeing him in an almost flirtatious manner.

Balthazar realized that she had come for the amulets, to steal them too. He’d found his strategy. “Ever stolen something as valuable as this?” he asked, drawing a small object from his pocket.

The demon seemed unimpressed. “What is it?”

“The sigil of Shadrach,” Balthazar answered, a teasing smile playing across his lips. “The wearer of the symbol is made impervious to flame.”

The demon’s eyes narrowed.

“I’ve got more,” Balthazar offered, acutely aware of how the demon’s grip on the Colt was loosening. “All of Heaven’s weaponry at my command, and you, thief, would just love to have a long look, wouldn’t you.”

Slowly, the demon lowered the gun.

“Show me,” she commanded.

The angel extended his hand. “Balthazar,” he said, keeping a safe distance from her charms and amulets.

The demon’s predatory, calculating grin widened, exposing white teeth. “Bela.”

She gripped his hand tightly and in a flash they were gone.

He hadn’t brought her to his weapons stores. Balthazar was no fool.

He took her to his penthouse suite in Vegas.

“Enjoy the view,” he said. He pushed Bela backward, pulling the Colt from her other hand while she was disoriented. She stumbled backward into a devil’s trap under the window.

“Just give me back the damn soul and you’ll go free,” Balthazar said evenly.

Bela’s eyes flashed black. “You fucking bastard.”

“Please. You loved it.”

The calculating smile had all but vanished from her lips. “Just let me go,” she pleaded. Her knuckles were white as her fingers clenched around the handle of the briefcase containing _Balthazar’s_ property.

“Give it to me.”

“I can’t.”

Balthazar manifested inside the devil’s trap suddenly, letting the Colt clatter to the floor. “I’m sure I can persuade you,” he said. They were standing very close together, close enough that he could feel the heat of Bela’s body.

He moved almost on some instinct, if he’d had any like it. He kissed her, an abomination and a thief. Bela seemed startled at first, and the briefcase hit the floor with a thunk. A moment later, she responded fiercely, a hand sliding down to grip his ass as the other wound into his shirt. She pressed her tongue into his mouth and he did the same, pushing her back against the window as the kiss intensified.

Her mouth tasted of cigarette smoke – acrid, but somehow not entirely unpleasant when her tongue was doing sensual things to him that made Balthazar wonder if hiring hookers for his pleasure wasn’t as satisfying as he thought it was.

Balthazar broke away abruptly. Before Bela could react he swept the briefcase up and manifested on the other side of the room.

Bela glared at him, clearly realized how she’d been played. “Classless,” she said dismissively. “The least you could do was let me out of this damned trap.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ve got what I want.” Balthazar willed the floor to crack just enough to release Bela from the devil’s trap.

She grinned at him crookedly. “Didn’t care for the soul anyway. I’m done working for that bastard Crowley.” Bela vanished.

Balthazar smirked to himself. He began to dial an escort service. He was thinking an even mix this time, two men and two women. Much more fun than just one sort of person at a time, when they came in so many flavors. He snapped his fingers, and the briefcase containing his newest acquisition reappeared in a safehouse with the rest of his glowing new-world currency.

He felt in his pocket as the phone rang, to admire the sigil that he’d used so effectively to escape being blown away by the only gun that could kill him.

He felt for it again.

And again. His pocket was empty. Balthazar thought of the look on the demon’s face moments before she disappeared, and remembered the feel of her hand on his ass during that kiss.

“Double-crossed,” he muttered to himself bitterly. He canceled his call. Balthazar opened up the mini-fridge, poured out a suitable amount of scotch, and settled into a chair. At least he had to admire her skill, even if he couldn't admit he wanted to see her again.


End file.
